Rubies and Fire
by PrettyDoe
Summary: Disease strikes Rivendell. Elrond becomes involved with 2 mysterious women. Kidnapping, chaos, battle, revelation, and redemption ensue. Disclaimer: All these characters and settings belong to Tolkien except Narwen and NoireRae.
1. Sickness Ravages Imladris

Rubies and Fire ****

Rubies and Fire

By Bonnie Rae

Elrond had never paced. Never, during all his thousands of years in Middle Earth had he paced. But never, during all his thousands of years in Middle Earth, had there been such dreadful cause for pacing. 

Elves with sickness. No elf ever contracted a disease before, and surely no disease had ever infected the refuge of Imladris. Yet here, beneath his own roof, beneath his healing hands, in this place founded for travelers who needed freedom from worry, Elrond Half-Elven was powerless to help his own people. This master of magic and medicine could do nothing for the weak and drained elves under his care. He could only watch and wait while their own strength slowly returned.

Elrond paced more desperately than ever. If worry were something that could be cast out and stamped into the floor, he would have done it then. Finally, he forced himself to remain still and think clearly. He laid out all facts in his mind, forced himself to think coldly and logically.

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What could have caused it? Is this some insidious trick of Sauron's? The Valar help us if he has that kind of power! Think. What do I know? Fact: Symptoms are first noticed when an elf wakes in the morning. Fact: The symptoms then include weakness, sensitivity to light, and two small pin-prick wounds on the neck. Is that a symptom? It could be the cause. Fact: So far, only male elves have been affected. Fact: No one has yet died from this illness; the first few to succumb are now fully recovered. What does it mean?

Elrond stood still. He looked for an answer in the air, strained to hear it whispered to him by the clouds…but there was nothing. Despondently, he leaned on the windowsill and muttered, "Has Eru forsaken his firstborn children?"

A respectful rap on the door lifted Elrond from his contemplation. Glorfindel, his chief advisor and closest friend, entered and knelt.

"Arise, my friend. What have you to tell?" Glorfindel stood and approached his lord, brows creased with concern.

"Disturbing news, Master Elrond. I regret to inform you that another elf has taken ill. This time, a maiden named Narwen."

Elrond's sharp intake of breath was his only indication of alarm. Calmly he stated, "Now we know this malady does not limit itself to males." Privately he thought, _Should I send Arwen away before she falls victim as well? _Amazingly, Glorfindel seemed to read the fear in his friend's eyes. 

"Do not act hastily before you have seen this maid for yourself, my lord. And remember, no elf has yet suffered fatal harm from this sickness."

"Wise words, Glorfindel," Elrond conceded, "but also remember there is a first time for everything. I would sooner the sickness liberate my own spirit from my body than my daughter's, who is a greater treasure to me than even the Silmarils were to Feanor." With that, this lord of elves strode out of his chamber into the hallways of the last homely house, not bothering to bring any of his curatives because he knew they would not help this newly afflicted maiden.


	2. The Fire-Maiden

RubiesandFire2

Ok, here's chapter 2! The plot thickens. Thank you very much to all those people who reviewed the first chapter. I really appreciate the encouragement and I really need it since this is going to become quite a long story. Now, the usual disclaimer: All these characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Only two are mine and one of them won't appear until the next chapter at least. So, enjoy!

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Rubies and Fire

Tall, majestic, Elrond and Glorfindel swept silently along the corridors like luminous wraiths until they came to the Rooms of Healing. Elrond hesitated with his hand upon the door, steeling himself for what he knew was behind it. 

__

There are elves here who looked to me for help. What did I give them? Nothing. There are elves here who love and trust me, who obey me without question. They would do anything for me. And what have I given them in return? Nothing. I cannot even release them from fatigue with the light of day when it comes and claims them in the night.

This elf lord of divine ancestry, with the blood of all the elf and human kindreds flowing through his veins, very nearly withered under the gray cord of futility that tightened around his heart. When a hand clasped his and held it tightly, Elrond looked into the face of Glorfindel. They spoke no words, but both knew what the other felt. Elrond found the strength he needed in the ivy green eyes of his closest friend. Slowly, he pushed open the door and they stepped together across the threshold. 

The Rooms of Healing held a cocoon-like atmosphere. Silence hung in the air like drapes of Spanish moss. There were windows, but all were heavily shaded. In former times the sun used to stream in through them, gently nudging exhausted or sick travelers out of their slumber. Now, the only light came from dim, sparsely placed lanterns. 

Somberly as mourners in the rain, Elrond and Glorfindel slipped past the alcoves which held sleeping elves on soft mattresses- elves that seemed to sleep the sleep of the dead. Never moving, pale as if carved up from the very stone floor of the room, they lay. All were perfect, smooth, marble figures. Perfect and smooth except for the barely discernable pin-prick wounds on each elven throat.

A caretaker appeared. She led the elf lord and his companion to the back of the room, where the most recent sufferer lay. It was hardly necessary. From miles away on a moonless night Elrond would have known the still body before him for Narwen, the fire-maiden.

"Her name is Narwen, my lord," the caretaker murmured in a low voice.

"Yes, I've been told who she is. Amazing. Never was elf or mortal so aptly named."

It was true. The figure on the bed was rather plain by elf standards and small as well. But, fire-maiden was her name, and she bore it well; for her hair was of a color never seen before or since among the race of elves. With all the bright furor of molten rock it spilled across her chest, along the ravines of her shape to her white ankles. Orange-red, indeed, as flames the gently waved cascade illuminated the soft darkness around Narwen. Every hair on her small body was of the same color, even her fine eyelashes and eyebrows. Across her skin and on her glorious hair, this elf's own luminescence teased the shadows in an incendiary dance. She burned the sight of those who looked too long.

Elrond stared, forgetting to breathe so hypnotized and mystified was he. 

"My lord," the caretaker politely broke the trance. Elrond blinked and turned away from the bed, still seeing the fire-maiden's incandescent form burning before his eyes. 

"Tell me, why have I not seen her before? I know every guest under my roof, but she is a stranger to me." The caretaker seemed a bit thrown off by such an unexpected line of questioning.

"Well, master Elrond, she only arrived here last week and had not been brought before you."

"Still, why have I never come across her in the hallways or anywhere at all in this house?"

"I don't know very much about her, no one does apparently. From what I can gather, she's a bit reclusive. I think she has spent most of her time in her room with various books from the library."

"Oh. Was she travelling with a party?"

"No, lord."

"She came here alone?"

"Yes. It's quite unusual considering how young she is, barely 400. I think she's an orphan. I heard someone talking about it when she was first brought to the Rooms of Healing."

Elrond stood silently for a full minute, considering this new information. Then, he bent over the prone, fiery figure and turned her head gently. As expected, he found the two pin-prick marks on the left side of her neck. When Elrond drew back from Narwen he felt a silly impulse to look at his hands and make sure they hadn't blistered at the touch of this fire-maiden. Well, he had come, he had seen. She suffered the same as every other elf and there wasn't a damn thing Elrond could do about it. Just as he faced Glorfindel to say some words to that effect, the caretaker stopped him once again.

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but I think there's something you should know. I didn't notice it with the other elves because they weren't close enough to any windows. A tray I was carrying caught on the curtain yesterday while I tended to this girl here and, well, let me show you. You remarked the victims of this sickness demonstrate a sensitivity to light, yes?" Elrond confirmed what she said. "Very well. Watch." 

With that, she lifted a lantern from its hook on the wall and brought it down so close to Narwen's face, Elrond was almost afraid it would burn the girl. The figure on the bed did not react despite the lamplight's strongest efforts to beguile her eyelids open. She remained still and impassive as a corpse. 

"You see that?" the caretaker asked. "Nothing at all. Now watch what happens when I draw back the curtain." She did just that. A beam of sunlight momentarily blinded the small group after they'd been standing in darkness for so long. The white ray lit upon Narwen's brow. For a moment, there was absolute stillness. Then, her mute elf form sprang straight up with a scream like a rabbit caught in a snare. Writhing with pain she cringed into the shadows against the cool stone wall, desperately trying to escape the light. Quickly, the caretaker shaded the window. The clawing maid almost immediately fell prostrate on the bed, as unconscious as before. 

Glorfindel shared a shocked glance with Elrond. Both felt their blood frozen by the anguished cry and their breath stolen by her pain. The caretaker's quiet voice broke upon them. 

"You see, it's not just any light these afflicted elves are afraid of. Only sunlight causes them pain." Elrond nodded in comprehension, sincerely commended her for making such an important observation, then hurriedly left the Rooms of Healing. 

He and Glorfindel both felt the eerie sensation of having alerted something, something they would have preferred to remain dormant. Both felt they were, from that moment, under the close scrutiny of some malevolent spirit.

When the two elves were once again in Elrond's private chamber, he confronted Glorfindel. 

"My friend, would you say my judgement is hastily passed if I tell you to go right now and prepare the Lady Arwen for her flight to the safety of Lothlorien?" 

"Certainly not, Lord Elrond," Glorfindel whole-heartedly agreed.

"Good. You and whatever steadfast elves you choose shall accompany her journey. Go."

So Glorfindel departed, and Elrond felt relief come to him for the first time in many days. His daughter, the Evenstar of her people, as dear to him as Luthien to Thingol, would be safe from the ravages of this unspeakable malignancy that threatened the sanctuary of Imladris. 


	3. Red Mist

Elrond stood alone in the blue cast of twilight staring after his daughter and her companions, though they were already far removed from his sight

Well, here's chapter three. Things start getting a little strange, but trust me, you ain't seen nothin' yet! It gets a _lot _stranger before it gets normal again. Now, let's disclaim: None of the characters in this story belong to me (not even the magnificent Elrond) except Narwen and the one who will be making her appearance very soon. (either in the next chapter or the one after that) Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, that British fellow we all love for creating the wonderful world of Middle Earth.

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Rubies and Fire

Elrond stood alone in the blue cast of twilight staring after his daughter and her companions, though they were already far removed from his sight. The mist shaded their footsteps and the trees muted their lively elven voices. He stared toward the mountains, toward the pass he knew Arwen would have to go through to reach Lothlorien. Elrond was lost deep in thought, struggling to hurl something from his heart, a gnawing thought that he'd made the wrong decision.

__

Don't be a fool. Would you have your child raving like that other poor girl? But, the danger. The mountains are not safe for anyone now. They never have been. Celebrian…. Stop it! She is gone. Glorfindel and two score other elves are with Arwen, she is well protected. Yes, but there were four score elves with Celebrian. Stop it! She is gone. The evil things are gathering to Mordor, they will not heed Arwen. Celebrian did not have Glorfindel. She is well protected…. She is gone….

"Fool!" Elrond whispered viciously to himself. "Letting your fears rule you, you fool." He grew quiet, then sighed deeply and muttered, "It may not matter at all, and you know it. Sending her from one haven to another will not matter if all the havens are destroyed. And even if they are not, I shall still lose her. Either way this war ends, I shall lose her." He lifted his head once more. It was now dark enough to see Elbereth's stars and he vaguely wondered if the Fellowship, now three weeks departed, was looking at the same stars now, or if they'd already been captured and killed. Perhaps the war was already lost. "Being melancholy won't help," he reminded himself. Elrond made his way back to his room, suddenly feeling very old as something mortal and tired stirred in him. Yes, he was descended from mortal man, and therefore felt what none of the Eldar could feel: age. Though he did not grow old, he sometimes felt the weight of his many years and his many griefs weighing upon him, threatening to stoop his timeless elven shoulders. 

He did not notice the black crow perched on a branch that watched him with human intensity.

That night, only the watchful moon saw as a red mist spiral silently out from the trees. Only the wakeful eye of night bore witness as this mist crept with all the stealth of a hunting snake to the wall of the last homely house. And no one except the bodies of heaven saw this mist rise like a cobra, creep up the wall like a vine, and slither through the window of master Elrond's room.

Nestled deep in slumber's embrace, the lord of Imladris became aware that he was not alone. He struggled to wake, to open his eyes, but something sat heavy upon his lids. There was a cloud across his comprehension. Sleep was gone, but wakefulness refused to stir. He found himself drifting in that moment, the moment all beings feel when they know they are about to wake, but have not broken sleep's grasp. There was not a coherent thought in his head and he drifted in darkness. 

Suddenly, Elrond became aware of a red mist, surrounding him, caressing him, clasping him close. It was a wicked demon's embrace, beckoning his thought into dark corners he hadn't known existed within his own mind. He fought the temptation to bury himself under these beguiling cobwebs, to explore every sick perversion and black moment with zealous desire. 

Something that felt like a pleased, gently mocking laugh vibrated against his conscious thought. There was a small sting on the left side of his neck and he knew no more.


	4. Tears in the Night

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around ****

Rubies and Fire

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around. Full awareness slipped away from him quick as an elusive eel. Only short snatches of dialogue pierced his comprehension.

"This epidemic will surely take him…"

"… has hit him so much harder than the others…"

"… there is no cure…"

"… close the curtains."

With agonizing clarity, Elrond realized the mysterious disease had gripped him with a vengeance not felt by any one else in Imladris. A prayer to Iluvater to preserve all those in this sanctuary should he perish flew with greatest urgency from Elrond's heart just as he slipped through the fingers of consciousness once more.

Night. It registered in his mind. Elrond suddenly felt wakeful and opened his eyes. A strange relief washed over him when he looked through the slightly parted curtains and saw that evening's mantle was cast across the burning eye of Heaven. The darkness soothed him like a healing balm, held him close as a lover. His heart rejoiced in the shadows and would not let him be still.

The lord of Imladris cast off his blankets and stood next to his bed. All the lamps were gone and the candles burnt out. He marveled that his vision was suddenly so sharp in this blackness. His glance found the nurse's form reclining in a chair against the opposite wall. He recognized her, knew her to be dedicated to her craft, and wondered that she could sleep when her lord lay deathly ill. Slightly disgruntled at the thought, but nonetheless thankful, for it gave him the opportunity to move about unhindered, he slipped silently through a door onto his terrace which overlooked the flowing Anduin. 

The weakness of his condition finally forced him to sit down on a finely carved wooden bench. He leaned his head upon the sill of the terrace and gazed up at the waning moon. Sleep nearly claimed him once more when a voice drifted out of the stillness.

"My lord," it said simply. He straightened and turned to look for the source of the voice. His mouth dropped open. He wanted to ask what she was doing there, how she had gotten in.

"You," was the only syllable his lips would allow to pass. 

"Narwen."

"I know."

Elrond was astounded. She created her own glowing silhouette against the velvet cloak of night. Her eyes, which he had never seen open, smoldered black and bright as coals. Steady as a candle flame the fire-maiden approached him, her ember-bright hair fluttering wistfully just at the tops of her ankles. She stopped within arm's length; only then did the gaping lord find the words he wanted to ask.

"Why are you here?"

"She bade me come to you."

"How did you get in here?"

"She cast a spell over the nurse and entreated the lock to open."

"Who is 'she'?"

"You know." Narwen stated quietly as she reached out one white hand to indicate the small pin-prick wounds on the left side of his throat. Elrond shuddered. Something he'd tried very hard to forget reared to life before his mind's eye. 

__

Last night… a woman, blood red, all the world was blood red. White teeth bared at my throat. Wolfish hunger….

He shuddered again and clenched his fists to fight the remembrance back into the oblivious world of forgotten nightmares.

"Don't be afraid. She didn't mean to hurt you. She sent me to help you, to give you back some of the strength she took." The elf maid gently pried his fingers loose. She held his hands in hers for a single breath. It seemed then as if she woke from a trance while holding this mighty lord's hands in her own. It only lasted for the time it takes a thought to fly across the mind, before her own will was thrown down and the trance resumed. But Elrond caught it.

"What sort of spell has she cast over you?" Narwen replied with an uncomprehending stare. She stepped back slightly and regarded her lord as a diver would contemplate the leap off a tall cliff. A zephyr rose from the woods below, swirling her hair with its guileful gusts, making it dance across and cling to her own form so that Narwen shone like a flickering spark. Elrond watched, hypnotized.

She leaned into the breeze, tilted her head, and allowed the wind to reveal the newly reopened wounds on her throat. 

"Take all that you need," she whispered. "But, she warns you not to take too much, or it may kill me."

Incredulous, Elrond nearly shouted for the nurse to help this delusional child. A sudden change stopped him. His world shifted, his mind twisted into a new shape at the sight of this girl's bared neck. A hunger, he knew it was the same hunger he'd seen in those other eyes the night before, banished every thought except satiation. He saw through the elf girl, every vein in her body leapt to his ravenous gaze and begged for him to discover them like gold in the hills. Black desire and blind rapture seized him, thrilled him, coerced him to their waiting outstretched arms.

With the devil's strength, Elrond stood and enfolded the fire-maiden in his mad embrace. The top of her head barely reached to his chest, but he bent and put his lips to her exposed nape.

The wounds that had remained sealed now opened at his touch. The blood flowed freely for this lord of elves. He feasted on this maiden with all the vigor of a starving thrall upon a fine banquet. He reveled in evil and pain, as her hot blood burned a path down his throat. 

He heard her sigh and felt her arms reach up to clutch his shoulders lightly. Slowly, beauty reappeared in Elrond's world again. As if waking from a nightmare to find a dream stretched alongside him, he felt the woman in his arms. His lips left her neck to search for her lips. Elrond felt tears slide a sparkling path from his eyes to where his mouth joined Narwen's. Hardly able to stand, he guided both of them onto the bench, still locked in that tearful embrace.

Elrond pulled away from Narwen, laid his head against her delicate collarbone, and sobbed. He hadn't held a woman or been held since Celebrian left him. Visions of his wife, his mother, his daughter all spun across his imagination. He cried for Elwing, his mother far away in the paradise of Valinor. He sobbed for Celebrian, his wife who, captured and tormented by orcs, was unable to carry on and departed centuries ago into the west. But most bitterly he wept for his beloved daughter, Arwen. If the war was lost, all Middle Earth would be lost and all those in it, including her. If it was won, Arwen, in whom the likeness of Luthien had been born again, would make Luthien's choice. Thus did Elrond's grief tear through him: that his only daughter should choose to belong to the second children of Iluvater. She would not go with him to the immortal shores of Valinor. He would never see her again until the day her soul departed the living realm and passed through the halls of Mandos before journeying to the unknown destination of mortal spirits. Only then, when his treasured daughter died, could Elrond look on her again. And then, he did not know if the souls of elves and mortals mingled even after the world was ended. Elrond's countless tears fell with the knowledge that his daughter may be lost to him for all eternity.

The grieving elf lord tightened his arms around Narwen, desperate for someone to hold as he would never hold his child again. He felt her gentle hands stroke through his obsidian black hair, and he loved this little maid. He loved her because she was there, because she hadn't left him yet like Elwing and Celebrian and Arwen. 

Without realizing it he whispered, "They left me."

"I will never leave you." Narwen lifted his face so he was forced to look into her eyes. He saw no enchantment there, the spell was gone and she gazed on him with complete awareness of all she did. Astonishment overtook Elrond as she lowered her face and kissed him of her own accord. 

He held her close to him, and so they stayed while the moon set and the stars watched over all with glittering tranquility. 


	5. Upon the Morning

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around

Rejoice! Here is chapter 5. Isn't this a sweet chapter? Don't worry, things get morbid again in chapter 6. Enjoy the contrast while you can! Let's see. I guess I better tell you none of these characters belong to me, they are Tolkien's. Except Narwen and my other leading lady who will appear in the next chapter, I promise! Apparently the caretaker and the nurse belong to me too, but they don't have names, so who cares? 

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Rubies and Fire

Elrond woke to hushed voices and vague black shapes hovering all around. Certain that he'd been in this exact same position not long ago, he blinked to clear his vision and sat up.

"My lord, you're awake!" the shocked nurse gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. The head caretaker stepped into Elrond's sight with relief and worry both evident on her visage.

"Lord Elrond," she offered a small bow, "we thought you were surely bound for the halls of Mandos. Such a fast recovery is amazing! How do you feel?" 

"What… what day is it? How long have I lain here?"

"We discovered you'd been stricken with the illness only yesterday morning. As I said, it's unbelievable that you're even able to sit up on your own so soon. The sickness was especially sudden and strong with you, my lord. We all feared the worst." 

The master of Imladris sat quietly for a minute. Both the nurse and the caretaker were unsure what to think when he began to search his sheets for something that wasn't there, then leapt up from the bed and walked to the terrace door. 

"Was I alone in this bed, in this room, this morning?" he asked abruptly. The two elf women exchanged curious glances with raised eyebrows. Carefully, the head caretaker approached her master. 

"There was no one else, Master Elrond. Please lie down. You shouldn't exert yourself so soon. You may cause yourself damage," the caretaker said in a matronly tone as she attempted to guide him back to the bed.

Elrond whirled, dodging her and approaching the bewildered nurse. 

"Were you awake in here all night, or did you fall asleep?" he asked. The flustered nurse looked from him to the caretaker and back again.

"I, um… I… I," she faltered and couldn't meet his gaze. "I fell asleep, lord Elrond. I'm sorry, I mean, I'm ashamed. I didn't mean too. It's never happened before. I… I … don't know what happened…" Elrond turned and caught the stern expression on the head caretaker's face.

"Don't be angry at her, please. There was no way she could have stopped it." That drew puzzled looks from both the women. "Now please tell me, I must know, is the girl alright? Narwen, is she alive?" 

A dismayed "Oh" escaped the caretaker's lips. "I just found out this morning she… she suffered a severe relapse." 

Elrond's entire posture slumped and he had to lean against the bedpost as he lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. 

"Oh no. It wasn't a dream… I did it…" 

"My lord, you are not well. Please, lie back down-" the caretaker did not get the chance to finish her sentence as he suddenly sprang back to life, threw on a robe, and was out the door quick as a nimble deer. "I have to see her!" he called to them as he disappeared into the hallway. The two elf women, now alone in the room, looked at each other.

"He's gone mad!" both of them exclaimed at the same moment.

Elrond's progress toward the Rooms of Healing was swift, but he felt the toll it took on him in his still slightly weak condition. He stopped for a moment outside the great doors to the Rooms, resting and examining the feeling. Being an elf, he'd never felt the fatigue that comes with sickness. He found it very disconcerting and wondered how mortals dealt with it. He also noticed that as he had passed the many tall windows along his way, the sunlight felt extremely repulsive. He'd never loathed or shunned the sun, but he did now. He hoped it would pass as he continued to heal. Ready at last, the lord and master of Imladris pushed open the heavy doors.

The atmosphere hadn't changed much since he came with Glorfindel. He noticed happily there were a few less convalescing elves. Perhaps the epidemic was declining. 

__

No, idiot! What are you thinking? You know now it's not a disease. There's some creature at the bottom of this. You have to find it. But first….

Elrond headed to the back of the room with all the speed his fading strength would allow. 

There she lay, exactly the same as when he'd first seen her. The fire-maiden. He reached out to touch her cheek. She was cold and pale as the moon. She breathed shallowly. Elrond knelt by her bed as the strength to stand finally left him. He dropped his head on the soft mattress as he gripped her cold hand.

"I'm sorry, little maid. I'm so sorry…." He whispered to Narwen's still form. Minutes passed in which the elf lord berated himself, cursed himself for being so easily tempted by the insane impulse that gripped him the night before. He shuddered and convulsed at the memory of blood on his lips with pleasure in his mind. His thoughts went round in circles trying to identify the cause of it all. 

And then he remembered holding this girl. He remembered the tears Narwen had let him cry to her. He remembered his feelings as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Elrond lifted his face to look at the silent figure next to him. Drawn by a feeling he couldn't name, he reached out his hand to touch her cheek again. His thumb brushed Narwen's chin. At that instant, she opened her eyes. They no longer appeared black, but gray. Gray as last night's ashes. 

Surprised and astonished, Elrond drew back. She looked straight at him, equal astonishment written in her features. 

"It's you," the words came weakly. "I wasn't dreaming. Do you feel better? Did it work?" Elrond was taken off guard by her barrage of questions and even more so by her blunt acceptance of the night's strange occurrences. 

"Y-yes. I feel much stronger. But, what about you?"

"Oh, I'm fine." Narwen gave him a small smile. "I'm just fine." 

Her expression changed then. Cautiously, shyly, she rested her hand over the hand of the mighty elf lord next to her. Narwen simpered and took her hand away. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just… I needed to make sure you were real. I needed to know I wasn't dreaming again, that you weren't going to leave me the next time I closed my eyes."

Wordlessly, Elrond recaptured her hand and pressed it with both his own. Her eyes grew wide as a child's seeing fireworks for the first time. He leaned in close to her and whispered, "I'll never leave you."

Narwen fell back on the pillow, her rapture conspiring with her weak condition to steal consciousness away. Elrond smiled. He stayed by the fire-maiden's side all the rest of that day. 

He felt forgiven.


	6. Demons Cry Rubies

Ha ha ha! I'm evil! I'm not going to give you NoireRae's story just yet. You have to wait until chapter 7! Really, it's about 2 in the morning and NoireRae has a long story to tell, so I'm putting it off so I can get some sleep. Don't worry, it'll be complete soon. In the meantime, here's a little tidbit to tide you all over. Betcha didn't know Elrond was a flirt, did ya?

Rubies and Fire 

Come the nighttime, after much exhaustive argument and determined persuasion, the head caretaker of the Rooms of Healing finally prevailed upon master Elrond to leave the side of his little maid, return to his chambers, and rest.

As Elrond entered the doorway to his room, he had to admit that he was not yet entirely healed and he was thoroughly exhausted. He threw his tall elven frame down on his mattress and freely gave himself to the waiting embrace of slumber. 

His peace didn't last long. Elrond shot straight up, this time making sure he was fully awake, as he watched a red mist creep into his room. He stared in amazement as the mist swirled around his bed, then slowly began to converge only a few feet from him. It molded and shaped itself. It condensed and coalesced into something with a human profile. The elf lord shivered violently when the creature sitting on the end of his bed at last became recognizable to him. He had seen her before. Only then her face was twisted like a hungry wolf's. Now she bore a sardonic, seductive little smile and lifted her eyes to him coquettishly, teasingly.

"Good evening, lord Elrond. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your resident blood-drinker," she purred as she extended a hand politely. Elrond looked at the proffered hand and back at her, as if the possibility of this creature speaking instead of lunging for his throat was something he hadn't counted on. After a moment, she finally withdrew the finely formed appendage and pouted at him sweetly. "Really, I expected an elf lord to have better manners than that." She gazed at him silently for a minute- enough time for him to scrutinize her as closely as she was scrutinizing him.

Elrond had never seen anything like this woman. He doubted another specimen like her could possibly be found anywhere in Middle Earth. She was long, lean, beautiful, and haughty as a Siamese cat. She bore herself in a decidedly noble manner. Her eyes, which he unashamedly explored as she boldly gazed directly into his, were a rich cherry-wood brown. They seemed to hold many more years and much more pain than her appearance or her nonchalant behavior betrayed. Elrond felt he was staring into the eyes of something much older than himself. 

Leaving her depthless eyes, Elrond's gaze next fell upon her skin. This woman's skin was a shade of white he had never seen in the complexion of any living thing. She was smooth and unmarked as a solid moonbeam. If Elrond had passed her while she was standing still, he could easily have mistaken her for a finely carved porcelain statue. Every angle of her visage intrigued and invited. The shadows melted into her as if they were painted on. 

By far though, the most striking thing about this svelte, terrifying lioness perched languidly at the end of Elrond's bed, was her hair. The sun never shone on such glory as tumbled wantonly from the beautiful woman's head and down her back. It was even redder than her blood stained lips. When the crimson ringlets, glossy as a raven's wing, curled against her opaline complexion, Elrond felt dizzied by the contrast. It reminded him of blood against cooling corpses on the battlefield. But, when she turned her head slightly, everything changed and the scarlet mane transformed into a cascade of rose petals, delicate and soft and crying out to be touched. When she turned her head another way, it changed yet again. Images of glistening ripe strawberries in summer floated through Elrond's mind. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to make sense of three such contrasting pictures. 

"What's the matter? Too much of a good thing for even one of the Eldar to believe?" the blood-tressed beauty asked as she cocked an eyebrow seductively and tilted her head flirtatiously. Elrond looked up just in time to catch the impish glint in her eyes and hear the mischief in her voice. Something he'd forgotten about, something playful he'd lost when Celebrian left, suddenly found a new hold on him. Elrond decided two could dance this woman's little dance. 

He narrowed his gaze at her a moment, leaned back carelessly on his pillows, then drolly tossed his response to her.

"If seeing is believing, you must have had a difficult time convincing yourself of me, for you stared _so_ intently." 

The woman's head dropped slightly and her eyes widened in surprise. The corners of her lips tugged upward, then won their battle as a smile settled in place of her seductive smirk. Elrond nearly shuddered as he caught sight of her teeth, a shade of white that perfectly matched her smooth skin; the canines were long and pointed to needle sharpness. 

]He forgot to be afraid, however, hearing her laughter rise up full and boundless as the swelling sea. Freely as a nymph she threw her head back and let the sound rise from deep within her lissom body. Elrond felt the same ridiculous mirth scurry into his brain. He didn't fight at all. The lord and master of Imladris laughed with this mysterious woman. He found pleasure in the company of the very thing he knew to be the cause of woe in his household. 

When they both sat exhausted on the covers, the woman chuckled quietly and once again teased the elf beside her. 

"Well, for all their lack of manners I must admit, elf lords do know how to play."

"Really? And just how many elf lords have you had the pleasure of tormenting?"

"Tormenting? You don't know what true torment is. Torture and anguish are hardly more than words to you. They have been a lifestyle for me." Elrond lay frozen as she spoke the words. Her eyes grew cold and dead as a shark's and dangerous hatred manifested itself in her delicate features. He felt paralyzing fear spear him in place. Once again, the antiquity of this being became clear to Elrond. He could barely force himself to speak.

"Who are you?"

She looked at him suddenly as if she'd forgotten he was ever there. 

"I'm sorry," she said with a half-hearted smile. "That black expression wasn't meant for you."

"I sincerely hope I never do anything to earn such a dark look." Elrond replied gently. In a quiet, insistent manner he said to her again, "Tell me who you are." 

Something ineffably sad unfolded deep in the crimson lioness's eyes. Uncountable memories spilled down her cheeks. As each crystal droplet fell from the curved, pale chin, it changed into a ruby.

The first tear landed in Elrond's palm. Dumbfounded he stared at the teardrop shaped gem, red as it's mistress's hair. A perfect ruby, purer than any stone ever unearthed from the deep mines of Middle Earth. 

"Keep it, please. I've cried so many of the damn things I hate them," her voice came to him as he stared at the flashing jewel in his hand. Elrond looked up, his desire to know who she was burning him more fiercely than ever. She sighed. "My name is NoireRae. I was not always what I am now, a thief of blood. Sit back, master Elrond, and I'll tell you a tale more tragic than what befell Hurin's children- a story sadder than the Lay of Leithian because no one gets a happy ending. I will tell you the tale of my people, wiped from the face of this world by the malice of Morgoth. 

Wonderment took hold of Elrond. He braced himself to hear NoireRae's story.


	7. Descent into Damnation

Oh my goodness! This chapter took me 3 days to write. It's very nearly a fanfic all by itself. Now, if you get queasy easily I would recommend that you read this chapter with caution. There are, not overly graphic, but fairly detailed descriptions of battle, blood, and gore. I don't think it'll seriously gross anyone out, but I'm just letting you know. Now for the disclaimer: All… actually, none of the characters in this particular chapter belong to Tolkien except Elrond. Oh yeah, and the orcs. The Haradrim are Tolkien's too. And Morgoth. And Sauron. I think that's all, though. Well, anyway, this whole story is inspired by the wonderful world of Middle Earth created by J.R.R. Tolkien. Enjoy!

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Rubies and Fire

"My people," NoireRae began, "were the finest mortals ever to walk this earth. I do not say that from pride or 

vanity, but because it is true. We were the finest. In our own language we called ourselves the Sondril. 

The Sondril were among the very first of Iluvatar's second children to appear in this world. And we were the ones He cherished most dearly, for we never forsook Him, and we ever turned a deaf ear to the lies of Morgoth. For our constant faith and devotion to Iluvatar, He did not shorten out lives as he did the lives of other men. My people lived fully as long as the Numenoreans of later ages. Of all the Edain, we were most like the Eldar in stature, in foresight, and in beauty of body and mind. You think I'm beautiful? Try to imagine an entire kingdom full of people, tall and white with crimson hair, just like me. For these reasons and because we defied him openly, Morgoth hated the Sondril with more vehemence than any other houses of men. 

When the other Atani began exploring the west and crossing the mountains, my people were content in the east. The kingdom was strong and filled with glory and light. We had no reason to leave. Some of the Edain who came back over the mountains told tales of a wonderful people who called themselves the Eldar. They told us the Eldar had a civilization to rival ours in genius and beauty, that they were a magical people and the first children of Iluvatar. We laughed and declared that if the Eldar were the finest people in the west, we would prefer to stay the finest people in the east. 

Still, these explorers of the west gave us a new name in the Eldarin tongue. The Sondril became known as the Carafingwaith- the red-haired people. We enjoyed the sound of the language and flaunted the elf name because we perceived how it enraged Morgoth. We could see his hatred for the firstborn."

NoireRae stopped to allow the escape of a deep sigh. 

"Can you imagine such a proud people, master Elrond?" she asked wistfully. "Can you imagine my people, unafraid to taunt a dark Vala? Oh, we were glorious! Singing praise to Iluvatar and nearly arrogant enough to spit in the face of Morgoth. I must admit, I was undoubtedly the proudest and most arrogant of them all."

NoireRae raised her chin and Elrond watched, bewitched as he saw her straighten and suddenly appear to tower above him. She became a goddess, tall and powerful.

"And I had reason to be," she continued, "for I was the queen of the Carafingwaith. I was the lady and mistress of the greatest people in the east." 

Her nobility became clear to Elrond. She understood the intricacies of reining over a kingdom, knew what it felt like to look after an entire race of people. He suddenly saw her as a ruler, as a monarch lording over her red-haired culture. When she turned her imperious gaze on him, Elrond bowed his head. He was shocked to hear her laugh.

"I'm sorry. No one's done that for me in such a long time." He looked up again to see her smiling like a delighted little girl. "I suppose I'm just not used to it anymore. There was a time when I would have struck a man who neglected to show me such respect." With that sentence, the queen quickly replaced the smiling girl. It slowly began to dawn on Elrond that this woman bore as many facets and faces as the jewels she wept.

"I was only eighty-five, hardly a full grown woman, when my father died. He was killed in an unexpected orc raid upon one of our borders. No one ever needed a reason to despise Morgoth, but for the death of my father I bore him special hatred. Blatant as Feanor I was with my contempt for the master of Angband. Being my father's only heir, I ascended the throne of the Carafingwaith.

Let me say again, I am not boasting when I tell you I was the most beautiful of my people. I only say it because it is true. I came to be known as Aglarwen- the glorious maiden. My people loved me dearly and I loved them. They loved me because I embodied the best of our race: skilled, wise, noble, fearless, lovely. The Carafingwaith became mightier than ever under my rein. None of Iluvatar's second born could match us. As I said before, He held us more dear than any of the others and we were His most faithful worshippers.

There came a time when I realized the need for an heir. Of course, to beget an heir I needed a husband. I married in my one hundred twentieth year. His name was Forla. Ours was a happy marriage and we loved one another dearly. It wasn't long until I bore a son. We named him Coralal."

Elrond recognized the maternal tenderness which now softened NoireRae's expression. Celebrian had looked exactly the same when she first held their children. In that instant, forgiveness spilled unlooked for from Elrond's heart. He forgave this woman all the blood he knew she'd drained, he forgave the terror she brought to his household. He forgave her because she had known the love of her husband and the love of her child. He forgave her because he already perceived she had lost all and was alone in this world. 

__

Another beautiful, shining, tragic facet. 

NoireRae picked up her story again. 

"I did not know, no one knew then, that the end of the Carafingwaith was drawing nigh. My son was in his sixtieth year, still a child practically, when a terrible foreboding started to consume me. It grew and grew with each passing year until I prayed in anguish for Iluvatar to relieve me of it, to tell me what it meant. 

He told me, but not in a vision or in a dream. I finally understood everything when my husband was killed by marauding orcs on the borders of the kingdom, just like my father. When I saw his dismembered body, spat upon and carved with foul words by wicked hands, I knew the days of my people would pass and Morgoth would destroy us if we did not stand against him."

Click, click. Two bright red rubies fell from NoireRae's pallid cheek and found each other in the palm of her porcelain hand. They lay like drops of freshly pricked blood. Carefully, Elrond leaned forward and scooped them away. With delicate compassion in his movements, he used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the remaining tears from NoireRae's face before they fell. 

"Thank you," she muttered and offered a small smile. "Keep that sleeve nearby. There's no telling how many more of these gems will fall before the story ends. Who knows, you may have a whole hoard of rubies before the sun rises." That sarcastic, indomitable sense of humor made Elrond smile back. She took a deep breath and continued.

"I wasted no time preparing for what I knew had to come. I ordered all the able-bodied men and women to prepare for war. You look at me strangely. Yes, among the Carafingwaith the women fought alongside the men. Women battle just as fiercely for their homes and families. My son, ninety by that doomed hour, led the old, the young, and those women who were pregnant or already had children, away into the west. I commanded him to take our people over the mountains and seek friendship with the elves, to be sure our race would survive should our warriors fail in battle. I do not know, never have known, how Morgoth discovered the route the refugees followed. None of the red-haired people, the most powerful and beautiful of the Edain, ever made it into Beleriand. All were captured by the cruel hands of the Dark One's waiting minions in the mountain passes."

Three more tears carved a path down the fallen queen's cheeks. Elrond caught three more rubies as they hung suspended from her jaw, rose petals tossed upon sea foam. His own heart twisted as, unbidden, images of pale captives bound with heavy, black iron chains arose before his mind's eye. He envisioned the Carafingwaith, proud and tall, beaten and imprisoned, their long lost tears melting the mountain snow. The snow that matched their smooth moonbeam skin so perfectly. He saw orcs molesting frightened children as mothers wailed and screamed and tore their scarlet hair, sending it to join the blood of their massacred elders on the cold ground. The swollen bellies of pregnant women slit wide and the defenseless unborn pinned against the ice by black orc arrows. He couldn't stop the thoughts from coming. 

Elrond gagged and retched, desperately fighting back the onslaught of morbid nightmares. Steaming tears blazed from his eyes down his face. He felt strong arms supporting him. 

"Are you alright now?" NoireRae's voice brushed his hearing like a soft feather. Elrond could not speak, but he nodded. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I know exactly what you saw. Those things came from me, not you." When he furrowed his brow in question, NoireRae continued. "You see, whenever I drink the blood of another being, my mind remains connected to theirs for a short time. I feel what they feel. Normally, I can control my own thoughts so my victims never detect my presence at all. But just now, my feelings were so bitter, they overcame all my barriers and invaded you. I'm sorry. Maybe I should stop."

"No!" The word shot out of Elrond more forcefully than he intended. "I must know now, I _must_ know how this story ends." NoireRae looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She became distant and entered the realm of buried memories once more.

"As I gathered my army I was unaware that Morgoth had already made prisoners of my son and his followers. I was lost in the haze of impending battle, blinded by the flash of armor and swords, deafened by the twang of arrows leaving the bow. Everyone knew now that war was imminent. The Dark One's host was on the move and we prepared for their arrival on our fields. 

The day came. I stood at the head of my army, at the head of my people willing to let me lead them to liberation, or doom. A thousand ranks upon a thousand ranks of mighty, silver helmed, red-haired warriors faced a thousand upon a thousand ranks of putrid, stinking orcs and forsaken, evil men. My archers lined the walls of our great city, arrows pointed with deadliest precision at black orc throats, ready to spill black orc blood. My steed, a war mare with a coat of the rarest gold color, snorted and stamped, as ready for carnage as her rider. 

The sight of those rotten creatures profaning the land of the Carafingwaith with their sickening presence ignited my hatred for Morgoth anew. I drew my sword and lifted it high in the air for all of my brave, fearless people to see. My horse reared and lifted a war scream to her stallions in the cavalry. I blew the horn of my country, a note that truly shook the earth and made the walls of my own city tremble. Or perhaps it was the galloping of scores and scores of armor-clad horses desperate to crush the enemy's bones. It might even have been my own blood pounding in my ears, I don't know. But the world quaked as I and my glittering army lunged for the enemy's very heart."

Elrond felt his own blood racing as NoireRae stood and relived that moment. Without warning, every candle and lamp in his room burst alight and blazed furiously, as furiously as she felt the beat of hooves on grass, felt the sword in her hand deal death to those who fled before her. As the raging flames threw new light and dark across her body Elrond saw the warrior. 

Another facet.

He saw the terrifying, vengeful queen. He saw his room transformed into the inferno of her hatred. Elrond stood in an attempt to calm her before the entire sanctuary of Imladris changed into a smoldering furnace. Her wild eyes grasped his meaning. The flames disappeared so quickly as to throw Elrond off balance and nearly send him reeling in the sudden dimness. She caught him by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry. When I've told you more, about how I came to be what I am, you'll understand why it's so difficult to keep in control of my emotions." 

As Elrond regained his balance, he realized for the first time how tall NoireRae was. She was fully as tall as an elf and only a few inches shorter than himself. For the first time, he also became aware of the unnatural strength she possessed. Elrond felt it in her lean, taut arms, in the pressure of her hands. 

For such a volatile creature to have such great power is a fatal combination. I have no doubt she could kill me in an instant. 

He pushed the thought away, hoping the desire to end his life would never enter NoireRae's mind. He escorted her back to her place on the end of his bed and asked her to continue.

"My army plowed through the rows of foul creatures. We sang songs of victory as our axes and swords cleaved skulls, as the arrows of the Carafingwaith struck our enemies like devouring locusts upon helpless crops. The legions of Morgoth cowered in terror. They ran blindly only to be stomped and bloodied under the hooves of our great horses. I rallied my troops around me once more, certain that victory was ours."

NoireRae choked and could say no more for many minutes. Elrond saw another ruby bounce from her knee and tumble onto his bed. He removed it and put it aside.

"Oh Iluvatar, Eru!" The words made a sound of tearing seams as they ripped themselves from her heart. "Why did you abandon us in that hour? Why? When victory smeared our armor and swords, why did you forsake us?" The red-haired queen, the glorious maiden sent her cry to the shivering stars. 

Elrond took her hand and held it tightly. 

"Listen to me, queen of the Carafingwaith," he commanded, "Eru, the almighty, never forsook your people or you. But the Ainur, the offspring of his thought, have free will, just like all of Iluvatar's creations. Morgoth chose a path of destruction and Iluvatar could not stop him. Whatever horrible fate befell your people was not Eru's desire, but purely the evil thought of the Dark One. The Carafingwaith fought bravely against him. You should be proud of your people, for none ever turned to darkness. They died the way they lived, in the light and love of Eru."

NoireRae looked at him with her glistening brown eyes. She found serenity in the sky blue gaze of Elrond Half-Elven. 

"I know," she said. "It has taken me centuries to realize and accept that. I have continued my struggle against darkness ever since. But, because I am a creature formed from perversion and malice, I will only know I have succeeded in my task when I can at last release myself from this world. Until then, I am bound by my honor, my love of all Iluvatar's creations, to stay here and undo all the evil I have the power to end." She fell silent for a moment. Then, she sent a smiling reproach to Elrond. "You've let me get ahead of myself in my story, master Elrond. There is much still to tell." So she began again.

"The orcs fled, the men of Angband lay dying. It was then the battle turned against us. At that moment, Morgoth unleashed his deadliest creations."

"Balrogs," Elrond gasped.

"Yes." Impossibly, NoireRae seemed to grow paler than before as the word passed her lips. "Fully a hundred of them. You know the panic induced by just one balrog alone. Can you imagine what the Carafingwaith felt when we saw five score of those fearsome things swooping down upon us with their wings that killed the sun and their burning whips lashing like hot irons from the air? The horses threw their masters and killed many with their sharp hooves as they whinnied and tore away. Men's shields could not protect them from the blistering heat of the balrogs' whips. Yet even then, lord Elrond, even then, in the face of painful death, my warriors rallied round me when I called. We stood united even under Morgoth's horrible torment from above. Can you imagine my people, lord Elrond? Can you imagine such a marvelous people, afraid, but fighting through fear. Can you name another people as noble and brave as those lost heroes of the east?"

NoireRae shook with every desperate word. Elrond found himself once again besieged by her memories. He saw, as if from a distance, an endless black cloud of soaring figures with tendrils of flame unwinding beneath them. He heard the cries of tortured men and women, the crazed screams of unmanned horses. Yet in the center, a silver star rose from the earth on her golden horse. Her voice rolled over the yells and chased away the pain of a losing battle. The thousands of frightened crimson heads held themselves high at her command. A tide of shining armor, shields, spears, and swords surged against the black horror from above. The flight of demons accepted the challenge and plunged downward, whips ablaze. The vision left Elrond as quickly as it had appeared.

"That time was intentional." NoireRae's voice cut into his spinning head. "I wanted you to see. No one else will ever know of that battle. There is no one to remember." She closed her eyes and sat still as heavy air in summer.

In that moment of stillness, she suddenly looked very old to Elrond. A sort of kinship with this solitary soul awoke in the lord of the secret valley. Her deep love and understanding of her people mirrored his own for the elves of Imladris. She was alone and forlorn as a weathered tree on a hilltop. There was nothing to protect her, nothing to shield her. She stood utterly alone. Yet Elrond still did not know entirely why.

"What happened to you and your army?" he questioned gently.

"We were defeated, of course. It takes nothing short of a Maia to stand up against a balrog. What hope did a handful of puny mortals ever have, no matter how powerful or noble or beloved of Eru? 

Morgoth did not want us dead, however. No, he had more sinister things planned for the Carafingwaith. We were captured and imprisoned in the deepest dungeons of his stronghold. Many passed to the arms of Eru there, slowly languishing to corpses in the dank, dark cells. Morgoth made sure that I stayed alive however. His malevolence towards me equaled my own towards him. He would have his chief pleasure in defiling the greatest queen of the greatest people. 

I was brought before him. He offered to spare my people if I would humble myself to his service. It was my weak spot. I nearly gave in. But even naked and in chains, I found the strength to realize he was a liar. I could never debase my courageous people by willingly becoming his slave. I spit at that evil being.

And so my torment began. He made me watch as one by one he killed each of the red-haired people. Then he made me watch as one by one he resurrected their dead bodies and changed them into perversions from his own mind. The spirits were gone, true life was no longer there, but he filled their brainless corpses with a lust for blood. The beautiful Carafingwaith became the undead, Morgoth's most insidious demons. He unleashed the walking corpses upon the world. They stole the blood of unsuspecting men, only so they could wake with the moon to steal blood again. And all those they drained who died by night became undead as well. Their spirits fled, but their bodies continued to walk the earth in search of blood. Like most of Morgoth's foul creatures, the undead could not stand the light. It hurt them badly. They slept in crypts and caves when the sun arose."

Another vision assaulted Elrond. This time it was of darkness. Suddenly, the dark was rent with pale bodies and pale moans. He saw people. Yes, they were the tall Carafingwaith, he recognized them. They crept through the dark, furtive as foxes, sniffing for living blood. The scene changed and there before him stood one of the undead all alone, holding a writhing victim by the throat. The twisting prey stilled and the pale blood-drinker threw it aside, licking the dripping blood from his lips like a sated cat. Elrond's eyes widened as he watched the dead victim rise and begin to sniff for blood to replace what the other had stolen. The image disappeared as NoireRae continued.

"The Dark Vala killed me as well, but he would not let my soul fly to the oblivious stars. No, through black magic and evil purpose he detained me. My body he changed as he had the others, making my teeth sharp and my desire for blood strong. But he gave to me special powers, in mockery of my royal status. I have the ability to change shape, but only by night. I can become mist, a wolf, a bat, a spider, or a crow. To me he also gave the ability to connect with the minds of my victims so that I would feel the pain I caused them. He wanted me to suffer the way I made them suffer.

There were times when, for sheer perverse pleasure, Morgoth would slam my soul back into my impure body. I became his favorite distraction, his greatest weapon. I was his whore."

Elrond held still as a man confronted with a venomous snake. Hardly breathing, he watched as NoireRae's hands contorted and twisted the sheets of his bed. There was a pop as her nails pierced the fabric and cut clean through to her palms. Bloody crescents upon the creamy sheets oozed into his sight. Elrond looked up to see her soul bleeding down her cheeks, rubies that fell and matched the red blood perfectly.

"That was the end of the Carafingwaith. Morgoth damned every last one of the greatest Edain. The glorious red-haired people hid from the sun and slunk under the light of the moon. That was the end of the Carafingwaith, but my story goes on.

You were still young, master Elrond, when the Valar finally battled that monster and thrust him into the great void. I was already thousands of years old. His hold over me ended when he met with defeat. Not sure where else to go, my spirit returned freely to my body, but my body would not freely accept my spirit. So it has been for these thousands of years since. Your soul and body are one, but mine are constantly at war and I must struggle to hold the two together. The evil of Morgoth is still present in me and I fight it at all times. Sometimes I lose the fight and I find myself taking pleasure in other people's pain. You felt something akin to it that night I sent the girl to you. You reveled in your own revulsion. You enjoyed taking from her." Elrond swallowed despite his dry mouth and changed the subject.

"Why did you not depart for the Halls of Mandos and from there to the resting 

place of mortal souls?" 

"Be patient, I am coming to that. Of course I desired to. I almost did. Yet, I 

realized there was still much evil in the world that only I could undo. The undead continued to stalk victims in the night.

I have spent centuries hunting down each and every one of the walking corpses and their spawn. I have wept for every blood-drinker I tore to pieces and burned, though I know none of them were alive or aware like me. The last one, the very last one, I tracked to this valley and destroyed." 

NoireRae paused and Elrond watched another ruby disappear into the folds of her skirt.

"It was Coralal. It was my son."

A moment of intense sadness hung between them. Elrond could not stop the pity that filled him. This woman had destroyed her only child. And in doing so, she had saved the hidden valley from a mindless demon. She had taken the blood of many elves, but no lives. She had saved Rivendell from becoming infested with the undead.

"When I ended his lifeless existence," she continued, "I thought my task was over and I could finally release myself. But it is not so. There is still much good I can do and I must do. The War of the Ring has just begun." Elrond jumped and looked at her with wide eyes.

"How did you-?" She cut him off with a sly smile.

"I have many ways of finding things out, my lord. I speak the language of animals. Your walls are not guarded against birds and beasts." Elrond stared at her a second longer, then smiled slightly in defeat.

"Well," he asked, "what do you intend to do with your knowledge?"

"I intend to help you win this war in the only way I know how."

"And how is that?"

"By draining Sauron's army." Once again, Elrond gaped in astonishment. "Well, I don't really know how much good I'll be able to do. Time is short and Sauron's might is strong. I cannot survive on the blood of orcs, it is too squalid even for a creature of the dark like me. Fortunately, Sauron's army is not dependent on orcs. I was passing through the valley of Rivendell on my way to the land of Harad. I plan to wreak havoc on the Haradrim. They are an uncouth, sinister people and I know Sauron intends to use them against his enemies. For the right price they won't hesitate to serve him. If by depleting their numbers I may deplete the Dark Lord's army, I intend to do just that."

"It will be most helpful indeed," Elrond nodded. "But tell me now, why did you 

choose to stay in my house and feed on my people, as you obviously have done these last few weeks?"

"For that I am ashamed." NoireRae dropped her head slightly. "As I said, my struggle against the evil inside myself is constant and sometimes I lose. It was pure gluttony that made me stay. I must survive on something, and elf blood is a delicacy I've not had many chances to purloin. I was careful, however, not to take too much from each victim. Until I came to you." Her tone took on a sudden dark hunger that made Elrond shiver. Her eyes, when she cast them at the nearly healed pin-prick marks on his throat, betrayed the evil she spoke of. That lust for blood was present, and NoireRae fought it down as Elrond watched.

"You are descended from Melian the Maia. Your blood has a magical, divine quality I've not tasted before. When I came to you the night before last, I intended to rob you of no more blood than I had any other elf. My teeth slid into your skin, and swallowing that divine ancestry made me feel alive again."

Her eyes rolled and her lips came back. A growl issued from deep in that ashen white bosom and her head tilted in ecstatic remembrance. Unaware that he did it, Elrond slid away from her slightly and wrapped his hand protectively around his own neck. 

"Ah, for that moment, my body and soul united again. The one rejoiced at the return of the other and I felt _alive_. I could stop forcing them together and simply exist. That was why I took so much of your blood. My joy was so great I couldn't tear myself away. When I realized what I'd done, I hid with the rising of the sun rose and waited for night so I could destroy you if you died. I was resolved never to let there be another blood-drinker in this world to spread the curse to others. But, you surprised me. You didn't die. Elves are difficult to kill. I was still afraid though, afraid you would perish."

"And so you sent that little maid."

"Who, the bright-haired runt? Yes, I still retained power over her. I opened her wounds once more, because you have not the teeth to pierce a throat. I exercised some magic on the nurse and put her to sleep. The locks gave me no trouble at all. I simply showed that girl the way. She surprised me too. Almost threw my hold off her before she'd completed the task I sent her to do. I released her from my influence after you'd strengthened yourself sufficiently. I think you noticed it, didn't you? She stayed of her own accord." NoireRae smirked. "From my vantage point perched in a tree you two made quite an interesting pair. The little runt's hardly more than a child by elf standards, is she not? Robbing the cradle are we, master Elrond? Are you sure you want to do that? You have to bend down so far to touch her lips with yours." 

The elf lord blushed deeply and glared at the maliciously teasing woman. The impulse to slap the smirk from her insolent red lips nearly overtook him. Her expression changed rapidly from tease to surprise. She shook her head as if clearing something away.

"Forgive me, please. Wickedness expresses itself in many ways. I didn't mean it. Please, please, forgive my impertinence."

Her eyes begged so honestly, Elrond immediately forgot his anger. His glare softened into a smile.

"Tell me one more thing," he said. "Why is it the nurse and caretaker found me alone and in my bed this morning?" 

"Oh, that's simple. After you two dozed off on the terrace, I carried the little runt back to her bed and then I carried you to yours so no one would ever know what happened."

"_You_ carried _me_? How could…. Oh. Nevermind." Elrond cut himself off as he remembered the unnatural strength he'd felt in this woman earlier. She smiled at him. They both turned their heads to the open window when a rooster's cry wafted in, heralding the approach of dawn. 

"Well," NoireRae stood. "The sun will be up soon. My repugnance for it has become less and less over the years and it doesn't destroy me as it would another of the undead, but I avoid it when I can. It makes me weak. I think I should be going now, back to the cave I've been hiding in. I will bother your people no more." She turned to go.

"Wait!" Elrond stopped her. "Will I see you again?"

"Why would you want to? I have brought illness to the elves of Imladris and I am dangerous."

"I-I would not have you depart for Harad so soon. There is much I wish to learn from you." Elrond paused in contemplation for a minute. "And yet, neither would I have you preying on the people under my care." He creased his brow and sighed, searching for a compromise.

"What _would_ you do, master Elrond? Sacrifice goats on a hilltop?" The playful humor was in her voice again. He looked up and slumped his shoulders defeatedly.

"You're right. I cannot ask you to stay. It was foolish of me."

"No, it was what I hoped to hear. I will stay. I can survive on the blood of creatures other than elves and men. I will stay and I will tell you everything you want to know."

"I will happily record all you have to tell about your lost civilization and everything you reveal to me about your cursed existence. I will see to it the Carafingwaith are remembered and Morgoth's bastardization of them is not forgotten."

The rooster's cry interrupted the conversation once more. NoireRae and Elrond bid each other goodbye. Then, amazed, Elrond watched as her crimson curls swirled about her face and her black dress lifted. All changed to smooth black feathers, tipped with red, and there stood a crow upon his windowsill. She cawed at him once, then took wing and disappeared into the pre-dawn stillness.

Exhausted, Elrond fell back on his bed amidst cream colored sheets, ten crescents of red blood, and ten glittering red rubies. Sleep happily bore him away to a land of dreams, far from blood or battle or sadness.   



	8. An Amusing Encounter

Elrond woke

Ok, I know it's short, but I felt guilty for not updating in so long and wanted to give you folks _something_. Besides, I think this little dialogue is both cute and enlightening. I also enjoyed writing it. How I love Elrond when he's flustered! Anyway, yes, I will bring you the next chapter soon, I promise! I was in Florida for two weeks and couldn't update. They'll come quicker from now on, really!

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Rubies and Fire

Elrond woke. This time not to black shapes hovering all around him, but to the first rays of dawn straying between the curtains and falling limpid and pale across his face. Repugnant of daylight's touch, he leapt off the bed and savagely jerked the curtains closed. He stood in his darkened room for a moment after that, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. At last, his memory cooperated and everything came flooding back. 

__

Did all of it really happen? Or have I been delusional all this time. Perhaps it was nothing more than a dream. Maybe I'm still dreaming. 

Lord Elrond rubbed his forehead and leaned against the cool stone wall. When he opened his eyes, he found they were still unnaturally sharp in the darkness. He stared, dumbfounded at what he saw.

All along the white walls of his chamber, everywhere there had been a candle, he now saw towering scorch marks. Like fat black arrows they made a deranged zebra stripe pattern across the alabaster stone. All the candles were gone, incinerated by their own flames the night before. Most of his lamps lay in shattered pieces on the floor, blown apart by the explosive force of the red-haired queen's memories. Elrond looked at his bed, seeing the red rubies and bloody crescents and holes through the sheets. 

The elf lord sank to the floor, overwhelmed with the realization that all the events of the last few days had truly come to pass. When he felt calm again, he meditated over what exactly he should do. Should he tell the inhabitants of Rivendell about NoireRae? How much did they need to know? What would they think of him inviting a vampire to return to his house? Elrond mused for several minutes before he decided it would be best not to mention any of it to anyone. Perhaps to Glorfindel when he returned, but no one else, not now. The situation was too strange, and Elrond felt there was no danger to his people since NoireRae had promised not to feed on the elves of Imladris.

Content with his decision, the master of Rivendell rose. He busied himself with his usual morning ablutions, then changed into fresh clothes. When he felt awake and refreshed, though still slightly dazed from lack of sleep, he prepared to do away with the evidence of last night's turbulent occurrences. 

First, he removed the rubies and safely stowed them away. Then, reaching out with his thought and gathering a bit of elven power to him, Elrond concentrated on the sheets. The torn fibers came back together and the bloodstains disappeared at his command. In fact, the whole bed cheerfully obliged and made itself. The covers smoothed and straightened on their own while the pillows fluffed themselves.

"Excellent," he said as he focused his attention on the scorched walls. The dark remains of last night's blaze faded to white when he bade them do so. All the broken lamps remade themselves piece by piece, as if Elrond had the power to unwind the wheel of time and un-shatter the glinting shards. "Very good," Elrond smiled. 

That task completed, Elrond left his room, determined to carry on his day as normally as he could, considering the highly abnormal circumstance he was in. The first person he came across happened to be the head caretaker of the Rooms of Healing.

"Oh, Lord Elrond!" she greeted him and bowed her head in respect. He acknowledged her with a smile.

"Tell me, Lady, do you never sleep?" he teased gently. She eyed him curiously, but smiled nonetheless. 

"Well, you seem to be in a good mood today, my lord. I'm glad of it. I was just on my way to tell you something I hope will lighten your mood even more."

"Oh really? And what might that be?"

"Your little maid, Sir, the one you appear to be particularly fond of, has begun a steady recovery." Elrond nearly faltered for just a moment in the face of such unabashed recognition of his feelings for Narwen.

"Wh- And just what makes you think I'm so 'particularly' fond of her, as you put it?" he queried in return. The caretaker lifted an eyebrow and raised her chin at him, letting Elrond know not even an elf lord could fool an experienced matron like herself. 

"For one thing," she stated firmly, "You just tried to pretend you're _not_ fond of her. Secondly, I couldn't drag you away from her side yesterday." The head caretaker couldn't stop a little smile from making a place for itself on her visage. She even allowed herself a polite chuckle.

"Yes, well," Elrond knew he'd just lost the game, but decided to play a while longer anyway. "I suppose some people _might_ consider that a show of affection," he said while maneuvering around the caretaker toward the Rooms of Healing. She circled with him like a duelist.

"Yes, some people might also consider that a show of _devotion_." Her verbal thrust landed home and rewarded her with a slight blush from her lord. 

"Indeed, I suppose some people might see it that way," he conceded. After a brief pause, he turned to her in all honesty. "My lady, I know you see many things. But, will you promise your lord not to speak your thoughts?" The head caretaker's smile softened and when she spoke it was with sincerity. 

"My dear Master Elrond, I swear no indiscretions shall pass my lips. But I cannot undo what is already done. Even now, rumors and speculations about your fuss over the girl yesterday are flying through Imladris. I can implore the nurses under my supervision to keep quiet, but I doubt it will do much good. Gandalf the Grey once said that some elves have over-merry tongues. The truth is, _all _elves have over merry tongues."

Elrond laughed. 

"Alright then. I release you from your promise. If my people are going to talk at least let them have a reliable source of information. Now, may I escort you back to the Rooms, or do you have another errand?" 

"Even if I did have another errand, do you think I wouldn't put it off for the opportunity to walk beside you, my lord?" She smiled brightly as she took his arm.

"How fortunate I am to have such devoted elves in my service," he smiled back. 

Together they strode down the hall toward the Rooms of Healing, and toward a certain maiden whom the lord of Rivendell admitted to being "particularly" fond of.


	9. Enchantment of an Elf Lord

Bonjour mes amis! I am so sorry, I know it's been a million years since I last updated, but y'all can understand, what with this being my junior year of high school and all those technical difficulties FF.Net was having earlier. I'm glad things are back to normal! Well, here's a juicy new chapter for you. Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things and update more regularly from now on. Everybody, fasten your seat belts for a sensory overload, cuz there's just oodles of descriptive language in here. This really should be called the "super-descriptive-didn't-know-the-elf-lord-has-wandering-eyes-did-ya?" chapter. Gosh, I'm evil. As for that part in one of the paragraphs about fifteen hundred years, according to my calculations using the timeline in the back of _The Return of the King_, Elrond's wife Celebrian left him approximately that many years ago. Well, from PrettyDoe (a.k.a. Miss Elrond Freak) to all of you I say, enjoy! Oh yeah, by the way I need a disclaimer here: I don't own Elrond or Middle Earth or Rivendell, or any of that stuff Tolkien invented. The only characters here that are all mine are Narwen and NoireRae. If you take them I'll kill you. 

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Rubies and Fire

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Chapter 9: Enchantment of an Elf Lord

The head caretaker blithely chatted on and pretended not to notice the unpleasant expression that crossed her master's face every time the sun dared to foist one of its impertinent rays through an open window. 

"She's quite a great deal better today. These youngsters, they heal so quickly, why, they bounce right back like puppies!" the caretaker cheerfully exclaimed as she opened the door for her lord. "Really, I think you'll find her much improved. The little lady isn't nearly so listless. Still not very talkative, but she can actually manage to sit up today. She even asked the nurse to get a book for her. Those two, they've become quite good friends these past few days."

Elrond could hardly stop himself from grinning like a fool as he and his loquacious companion made their way to the back of the Rooms of Healing. Everything suddenly felt so weightlessly happy, so pleasant, so right. Almost every elf that had lain ill before was gone, and Elrond was sure he had never felt more elated to see so many empty beds. The caretaker allowed her one-sided conversation to trail off when her master slowed his long strides and halted to watch the lamp-lit scene that unfolded in front of him.

Facing the shaded window, Narwen sat cross-legged on her bed. She remained still and straight, studiously concentrating on the ponderous tome that rested in her lap. From behind her, Elrond could make out several lines of Sindarin runes describing the tragic exploits of Feanor. But his eyes soon found more attractive things to explore than the story of the Silmarils.

The tall elf lord saw that the fire-maiden no longer wore just the simple white shift he had always seen her in theretofore, but over it she had donned a skillfully embroidered blue dress whose laces snugly embraced her bosom and whose skirts flowed freely and loosely downward. The deep blue provided the exact complement, the perfect artistic contrast to her flame-colored hair.

Narwen sat still, completely engrossed in her book, while the nurse gently ran an ivory-handled brush through the bright waterfall of hair that cascaded down, down into a molten puddle on the smooth floor. Elrond found himself nearly slipping into a cobra's trance while he watched the slow, swooping motions of the nurse's pale, silvery arm against the fiery backdrop. 

The mesmerized elf lord dared not move for fear of disturbing what he saw before his eyes. He felt as if he was watching from very near by, yet very far away. It was like looking into a dewdrop by moonlight and seeing an entire little world suspended within it. Elrond was afraid to reach out and touch what he saw, afraid he would destroy it.

Finally, after what may have been a minute or an hour, the Master of Imladris found the courage to move. He swept soundlessly to the nurse's side and motioned for her to remain silent. She wordlessly surrendered her chair to him and walked into the shadows, taking her place beside the caretaker. The two women made eye contact, understood each other, and smiled knowingly as they turned to view the flowering of a tenderness the Last Homely House had not known for fifteen hundred years. They became the privileged observers, the ones who watched the ripening of a new and fragile fruit, yet remained separate from it by Destiny's invisible barrier. But Narwen, following the Sindarin words on a distant journey across the pages of her book, never noticed the change.

Elrond sat as still as a meditative feline. He felt oddly pleased that she didn't realize he was there. It was a mildly voyeuristic feeling, a gladness for the chance to look at her, to memorize ever angle and curve of her with his eyes, to let her luminescent profile sear itself into his brain. True, he had done quite a good deal of memorizing while she lay unconscious the day before, but it felt different now that she was awake. Elrond gazed on the unsuspecting little maid, who remained bent over the old Sindarin volume and never knew that the eyes of a mighty Eldar were having their way with every part of her there was to see.

At last, the Half-Elven convinced his eyes to cede their hold over to his hands. He reached out, and ever so lightly touched the fire-maiden's hair. The fine strands parted and nestled between his long fingers. To Elrond, it was like opening a flask of some enchanted perfume. A scent, a heady, spicy, burnt-leaf scent he couldn't place, wafted from the flaming gossamer recesses, invading his body and forcing his skin to rise up in ecstatic shivers. Elrond bit his lip and wrestled his headstrong reactions to silence.

After a short time, the elf lord allowed himself to slip carefully into the arms of waiting elven magic. With deft gentleness, his hands, guided by the motions of the Universe, braided and plaited and twisted the multitudinous strands. No ribbon needed he, nor clasp. When the Master of Imladris commanded, the blazing spider strands of hair obeyed and remained bound where they were. The only ornaments the Lord adorned his maid with were the sliver-blue flowers from a nearby vase. How lovingly he wove them within each braid, how carefully set them amongst her loose hair that flowed downward to the floor and sternly commanded them to cling with utmost loyalty to each strand. And still, borne away on other adventures, Narwen did not notice the rare attention being paid to her.

After a long while Elrond completed his work to his satisfaction and decided it was time to move on to other matters. Reality was slowly reclaiming its hold on him and he knew there were many things he wished to discuss with this girl, including where she came from and why she had come to Rivendell. The nurse had left a mirror lying on the bed. Elrond picked it up and, resting his left hand on Narwen's shoulder, leaned forward far enough to hold it in front of her, effectively cutting her off from her book and waking her back to the reality of Middle Earth. The stunned maid gaped at her own reflection, unable to believe the artistic intensity of the twisting braids and sparkling flowers, unable to believe she was seeing herself. She felt sure she was looking at one of the airy nymphs who were known to flit about the house of Manwe in the Divine West.

"Nurse!" she exclaimed, "You're a miracle worker!"

Amused, Elrond chuckled and tilted the mirror so Narwen could see that it was indeed _not_ the nurse she was speaking to.

"Thank you," he purred across her shoulder, "I have been known to work a miracle or two in my time." 

Elrond thought he'd seen the girl gape before, but nothing could compare with her surprised, shocked, and embarrassed expression now. She whipped herself round to face him so quickly that her nose barely missed colliding with his chin. The elf lord dropped the mirror and found the only thing he was holding was Narwen.

Narwen's eyes bored straight into his. They appeared a fresh green color, like sunlight glimmering through newly sprung grass, no longer the flat grey Elrond had seen yesterday. _She has those kind of eyes_ he mused. _The kind that never seem to be the same color twice. _Her face, so close to his, was scattered with freckles, like cinnamon across white cream, and framed by her amber braids. 

Elrond could not read Narwen's expression. He wasn't sure if she was about to cry, or slap him, or faint. Maybe she had plans to do all three, but the Lord of Rivendell was too busy resisting the urge to taste her small, surprised lips to really give it any thought. Just when he was seriously starting to wonder why he shouldn't kiss her, the atmosphere was bitterly shattered by a most ill-timed sneeze.

Elrond and Narwen both turned to see the nurse wiping her pretty little nose while the caretaker stood appalled, seemingly unable to believe the moment had just been ruined in such a way. The extremely abashed and self-conscious nurse sniffled, laughed a quiet, half-hearted little laugh, and tried to make amends.

"Oh, sorry. Please, don't mind me, do continue," she said as she blushed deeply and looked toward the floor. The caretaker could not contain and exasperated sigh. She turned and leaned against the wall. Elrond thought he could hear her muttering something about "the Queen of Idiots". 

A musical giggle diverted his attention back to more pressing matters. Narwen, emboldened by the assurance that she was not the only fool in the room, laughed freely at the nurse's ill-chosen words. It didn't take long for the absurdity of the situation to dawn on Elrond and soon both of them were doubled over with mirth. In the meantime, the other two women had disappeared, the much annoyed head caretaker having pulled the nurse out of the scene by her pointed ear. 

It took a few minutes for the elf lord and his maid to calm down. When they were finally able to speak, he asked her if she felt strong enough to leave the Rooms with him.

"Why?" she asked.

"There are many things we need to discuss, and there is much I wish to know about you. And I'm sure you must have a few questions about… her," he replied, motioning to the still visible bite marks on Narwen's neck. She shuddered and touched the place.

"You've spoken to her?"

"Ssh, the walls here have curious elven ears. We should go to the Hall of Fire. It is empty and quiet this time of year, there are no windows, just the fire."

"I'm not sure I can walk the whole way."

"I'll carry you as soon as you ask me."

So, Narwen acquiesced to leave the Rooms of Healing. She and Elrond departed that moment, and began making their way through the labyrinthine halls of the Last Homely House.


End file.
